Atlantis Unmasked

by Alyssa Day

  “Yes. Yes, do so immediately. We have much to plan, and little time in which to do it. If my intelligence is correct, the Atlanteans plan on ascending to the surface very soon. We can ill afford the overzealous techniques that some of our newly turned vampires are using upon the humans and shifters. We need them to be enthralled to do our bidding, not comatose or insane.”

  He cautiously lifted his head and saw that she was rising into the air, her eyes still blazing a feral red, but with no other sign of the Hellfire she’d called earlier.

  “Go now, Vonos. I know I need not tell you the consequences of failure.”

  “No, my lady, you do not. I will report as soon as I have news.”

  As he watched her disappear into a whirling tornado of red-and-black smoke that shot through the roof as though it were no barrier, a wash of bitterness swept through him. He wondered, not for the first time, if the idiotic humans who’d coined the phrase “failure is not an option” had any idea how harshly true the concept could actually be.

  No matter. He had his orders. First to let Prevacek off his leash, and then a personal matter to attend to, also in Florida. Perhaps the Vampire’s Bane had just grown more dangerous than it was worth.

  Chapter 10

  St. Augustine, the river wall outside the fort, the next morning

  Alexios had spent most of the night circling the fort; first on foot, later as mist, soaring through the overcast night sky, and finally—again in his body—swimming with the dolphins who played and danced in the windswept waters. Once it had become clear that all attempts to sleep would be futile, he’d given up entirely. At first, he’d thought to return to Atlantis. Sleep in the familiar comfort of his own bed in his room in the warriors’ wing of the palace. But something in him balked at the thought. It felt like giving in; as if he were not strong enough to sleep in the vicinity of Grace without going to her.

  If ever he’d wanted to surrender, this had been the night.

  But surrender wasn’t in his vocabulary. Unfortunately, several other words were. Like desperate. Needy. Wanting.

  He needed to talk to someone who could help him untangle the knots he’d damn near strangled himself with. So, like an idiot, he’d decided on the one person who was least likely to understand this soul-deep, gut-wrenching, balls-to-the-wall need for one very special woman. If Alaric would ever show up.

  He’d been right the night before. He was going crazy.

  One moment he was sitting all alone, save for the occasional overly bold seagull making an incursion to see if he had food, and the next moment Alaric sat on the wall only a few paces away.

  Alexios was fairly proud of himself for keeping most of his startled reaction off his face. “I wish you’d teach me how to do that,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind learning a few of your other party tricks, either. That energy sphere toss, for example.”

  Alaric raised one dark eyebrow in that arrogant manner of his. No emotion flickered in his harsh, bleak expression. Of course, if he really was the most powerful high priest in the history of Atlantis, as the elders claimed, Alaric had a right to a little arrogance.

  “Is that why you summoned me? For party tricks? If so, then perhaps we need to discuss the duties of Poseidon’s high priest.” Alaric never looked at him though. Just stared out to sea, his obsidian gaze giving away nothing of his thoughts or mood.

  “After all these years, I’m well aware of your duties,” Alexios replied. “In fact, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Nice of you to finally make an appearance.”

  “Is it the woman then? Grace?”

  Alexios should have known. Ven never could keep his mouth shut, unless it was about a mission. Ever since he’d met Erin, he’d been even worse. Alexios muttered a few choice words under his breath.

  “I have my doubts that the King’s Vengeance will sing ‘Feelings’ at our next formal dinner, as you so colorfully expressed, but your underlying point is well taken,” Alaric said dryly.

  “Ven did come to me, but not out of some need for gossip. He was concerned for you, true. However, it is the mission that is of paramount importance, not your . . . emotions.” Alaric spat the word out as if it tasted like sea-slug slime. “You know the value of the Vampire’s Bane. If your feelings for this human were to get in the way—”

  “They’re not feelings,” Alexios said, but then he reconsidered. “Well, maybe they’re feelings. By Poseidon’s balls, I don’t know what they are.” Alexios was nearly shouting by the end of the sentence. He took a deep breath and continued in a quieter tone. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. What’s important is another issue entirely. As you know from the message I sent through the portal days ago, High House, Seelie Court, tracked Grace down to get to us. First Lucas, and now Grace. They want to give Prince Aidan a birth gift, and they want to talk to us about an alliance.”

  A muscle in Alaric’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

  “Did you hear me? I said—”

  Alaric held up a single hand, and Alexios desisted, then spent the next few minutes in silence, scowling at an especially persistent seagull. It, like Grace, wasn’t intimidated in the least. He must be losing his touch.

  “I heard you,” the priest finally replied, just when Alexios had been considering the merits of roasted gull. “We have been in council, considering what to do with the information. A Fae birth gift is an enormous honor and must be given in person to its recipient. This holds the weight of millennia of tradition. To deny Rhys na Garanwyn this request would be tantamount to a declaration of war at worst and a slap in the face at best. Even I, who channel the power of Poseidon, would prefer not to slap High House, Seelie Court, in the face.”

  “We can’t let him enter Atlantis,” Alexios protested.

  Alaric inclined his head. “On that, we are in accord.”

  “And Conlan’s not about to bring the baby to him,” Alexios continued.

  “Perhaps you could stop offering me your opinions as to what we cannot do and instead listen to my advice.”

  A seagull flying overhead sounded a harsh caw, as if in agreement. Alexios eyed it suspiciously, not really putting it past Alaric to manipulate even waterfowl to his purpose.

  “As I told Conlan, I do not care for this, especially the ultimatum feel of it.” Alaric cast a troubled glance at Alexios. “Or that you have been targeted by the Fae to be our emissary, especially in your current condition.”

  “My condition? What in the nine hells does that mean?”

  “You know what I mean. The human. Grace. Less than a year has seen first Conlan, then Ven, then Justice all fall. All three of the Atlantean royal princes. All victim to the soul-meld with humans. Then we have Bastien and his sister, both mated to shape-shifters, unbelievable as that still is to me.”

  “I see your point, although I doubt they would appreciate the word victim. And nobody’s talking about soul-melding, here,” he hastily added. “It’s more of the—more of a—”

  “More of a what, exactly? Are you denying that your heart is in danger of becoming involved with this woman?”

  “My heart?” Alexios could taste the bitterness like bile in his mouth. “Who knows if I even have a heart? As far as I can tell, it’s a useless organ that shriveled up and died years ago. Hells, all I know is I’ve been twisted up inside since I met Grace. It’s just a physical thing.”

  Then, because he couldn’t bring himself to lie to the priest, he tipped over onto the side of blunt honesty. “That’s probably not the strict truth. If it was just my cock leading my brain, I would have found another woman and gotten over Grace long before now.”

  “Then perhaps you should bed her and get it out of your system. Also,” Alaric continued, his voice more grim than Alexios had ever heard it, “I cannot believe I am participating in this conversation.”

  Alexios glanced at Alaric but then quickly faced forward again, gazing out over the waves. “This is not fun for me, either. And the reason you’re having this conversatio
n is because of one we had more than five years ago.”

  “Ah.” The utterance carried a wealth of meaning. “Your vows during the purification rituals.”

  “Yes. Are they . . . are they permanent?” Alexios had to force the words past the knot of shame and humiliation in his throat. To have to discuss such things with Alaric was almost more than he could bear, but the priest had saved him from insanity and worse in the days following his release from Anubisa’s Apostates. Alaric knew more of the inner workings of Alexios’s mind than any other walking the surface or beneath the waves.

  Alaric shrugged. “I mean in no way to make light of this, but considering the many enemies who stand lined up against us, the issue of your love life seems rather unimportant.”

  Alexios jumped up, stung. “Don’t belittle the vows I made that day. You know what I suffered. You saw what I feared when you scoured my mind to be sure I was untainted. You can’t tell me my concerns were unjustified.”

  “I am here, am I not?” Alaric’s face hardened, and he, too, rose from his seat on the wall. “If there were time, if my own soul were not . . . No. There is no time, so there is no point in belaboring it.”

  He turned to face Alexios and something of understanding was in the deep silver-green of his eyes. “The vows you made that day—the promises you swore—were only to yourself. I merely stood witness, as your priest. Though we were in Poseidon’s Temple, they were not vows to the sea god. He would not have asked those particular oaths of you.

  “He only demands celibacy of his priests,” Alaric continued, his voice rough. “No matter what Keely claims to have seen when she object-read that sapphire, I have found nothing to support her claims that priests once were allowed to wed in Atlantis.”

  Alexios knew that Alaric was thinking of Quinn, but he didn’t know how to offer comfort to a priest. He did, however, know how to offer comfort to a man. To a friend. “Your friendship and counsel saved me from taking my own life back then, after two long years of imprisonment. If there is ever any task I can undertake, anything—”

  “This is nothing your sword or daggers can solve,” Alaric said. “For this matter, I must stand alone. However, I need leave you no such dilemma. You swore those vows of purification for a reason. To protect any who might come to harm at your hands because of the darkness you had endured and taken into your soul. What you must ask yourself now is whether you have defeated that darkness. Or would this woman you hunger for be at risk from those very hungers?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that,” Alexios said, raking a hand through his hair. “I just don’t know.”

  “Well, until you do know, the more prudent course of action is to stay far away from Grace,” Alaric advised. “It is, however, true that I can offer you release from your vows, since they were sworn only to yourself.” He raised his hands, and a sparkling shimmer of pale silver light shot forward and surrounded Alexios for a brief moment before winking out of existence.

  Alexios had to admit he was impressed. For a moment, he’d almost felt . . . different.

  “What was that? Some sort of vow-release magic?”

  “No. Merely a trick of the light. But I had the impression you were seeking something more formal than ‘Okay, go for it,’ as Ven would say,” Alaric said, a hint of a smile surfacing. “Looked pretty impressive, didn’t it? It’s a priest thing.”

  Alexios glared at Alaric, feeling like a damn fool. Then he pointedly stared down at the water lapping at the shore and then back at the priest. “I could pick you up and throw you in that water before you could pull any of your magic tricks, temple rat.”

  Alaric’s eyes widened, just a fraction, and then he tilted his head and laughed. “You know, if anyone could, it probably would be you.”

  “So basically this is one of those ‘the answer is within you, grasshopper,’ kind of answers?” Alexios skimmed a rock over the waves.

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, that’s a big stinking pile of miertus.”

  Alaric laughed again. “Welcome to my world, warrior. You should stop by sometime when the elders want me to forecast exactly what will happen on each day of the next hundred years or so.”

  Just then, a skitter of sliding rocks alerted them to someone climbing down the grassy bank, and they turned in unison to see a small dark-haired woman smiling broadly and heading for them. For a moment, Alexios almost thought it was Quinn. But then again, he’d never seen Quinn smile.

  Michelle. It was Grace’s British friend, Michelle.

  Alaric bowed deeply. “It is an honor to see you again, Lady Michelle.”

  She laughed and held out her arms, her lively blue eyes sparkling in the early morning sunlight. “Don’t you Lady Michelle me after you saved my life, you gorgeous thing,” she scolded. Her voice held London but also a trace of northern England. Maybe a touch of Wales, too. It had been a very long time since Alexios had traveled in the United Kingdom. Maybe he should go again.

  Like now.

  Alone.

  Michelle’s voice broke into his escape fantasies. “Lean down here and give me a hug, then, Alaric. I’m just in from London, and let me tell you there are no direct flights to this gem of a town.”

  Alexios’s jaw dropped as he watched the tiny sprite of a woman gather Alaric to her in a boisterous hug. As if that weren’t surprise enough, Alaric returned her hug.

  Hello, alternate reality. Clearly, frustrated lust was beginning to melt Alexios’s brain cells, if he thought he just saw Alaric hugging a human.

  Then she turned toward Alexios, still with that delighted smile. “Hello, Michelle from St. Louis. Welcome. Have you seen Grace?”

  She laughed. “Well, Michelle from London, by way of St. Louis. Not, mind you, that I ever want to go back to that nasty town.” She shuddered. “Doesn’t take a girl getting her throat ripped out by a vampire more than once to want to take leave of a place, I always say.”

  “But look,” she said, lifting her chin high so they could see her unmarked neck. “Alaric healed me completely. Wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, luv.” She directed this at Alaric. “So the least you can do is let me buy you breakfast. Both of you, of course. Grace will be along in a moment, as soon as she’s done with her important leadership things.”

  She threaded one of her arms through Alaric’s and the other through Alexios’s and started walking, herding them along with the sheer force of her personality and chattering on about flights and layovers and terrible mix-ups with tickets, hired cars, and bollixed-up trains that all got sorted in the end. As they walked up the hill toward the gate to the fort, Alaric met Alexios’s gaze over the top of Michelle’s head and grinned.

  Alaric. The mighty and terrible, most powerful, could-melt-your-bones-with-a-glance Alaric. Grinning like a youngling.

  Poseidon himself would find it hard to believe.

  Chapter 11

  Grace kicked the office chair so hard it flew through the air and landed on its side, which accomplished nothing. The loud crashing noise didn’t help her headache any, and it sure as heck did nothing to diminish her frustration.

  No word from Quinn or Jack. No money had magically appeared in the rapidly dwindling bank account to help her feed or train the new recruits, only about half of whom showed any promise.

  Another attack last night, this time in Miami. This one blamed on panther shifters who’d gone rogue and clawed and killed at least a dozen humans. But, as the smarmy news anchor had perkily announced, the humans were suspected to be members of a huge drug cartel.

  Translation: nobody cared. Rah-rah for the shifters. P Ops would make a token effort to find them, but nobody would dig too deeply into the reasons and discover that this attack was another piece of the puzzle. The vampires were far too smart to test their new shifter-enthrallment techniques by sending their “experiments” after random humans. They were wiping out the dregs of society. People nobody in law enforcement would miss.

  The average Miami resi
dent would probably be indifferent. Happy, even, that some trick of fate had happened to put drug dealers in the path of the crazed killers. After all, it hadn’t happened to “good people,” so who had time to care?

  “At this rate, we’ll all be penned up like good little sheep waiting for the slaughter before anybody catches on that we need to do something,” Grace shouted, kicking the chair again. A muffled noise caught her attention and she caught Sam leaning against the doorway, chuckling. He wore a plaid flannel shirt and ancient blue jeans, as usual, and his white hair looked like he hadn’t combed it in a week. Same old Sam.